


first breath after coma

by velvetcrowbars



Series: the ocean and the shore [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, I have no idea what I'm doing, I'm Sorry, Introspection, M/M, Relationship Study, i just have a lot of feelings, insecure oikawa is best oikawa, so many parentheses, the semi continuation to like the tenerife sea, there are probably lots of typos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 02:32:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2050044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetcrowbars/pseuds/velvetcrowbars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>In which Oikawa wonders why Iwaizumi ever wanted to stay in the first place.</p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	first breath after coma

**Author's Note:**

> “Love does not begin and end as we seem to think it does. Love is a battle, love is a war; love is growing up.” -James Baldwin

_i. winter (warmth)_

The chill in the air has always been a feeling of unpleasantness, an itch under his skin he can’t quite scratch, one that he has never quite known how to get rid of. The way the bare branches reach out into the gray sky like lonely hands that have forgotten their purpose or the feeling of the ground under his feet that’s too firm to be the earth he thought he had known. There is no comfort in the dirt that’s kicked up under his feet on the walk to school, no feeling of welcome even in the heated air of the gymnasium or classroom 3-E. Bitter, biting, indifferent.

(Oikawa doesn't hate winter, it just so happens to bring out the worst in him is all)

The feelings the winds of winter bring swirl down into his stomach, whispering of long empty night and unfulfilled self-promises. And sometimes it feels like there is literally nothing that will stop it from devouring him, biting his lip so hard it draws blood and he can feel the frustration pooling behind his eyes in an attempt to feel anything besides the filth in his own bones.

(but Iwaizumi knows; eyebrows furrowed and mouth clenched he'd swipe the blood from Oikawa’s lower lip with his thumb and shake his head)

There is only one source of heat that he can find satisfying whenever january starts to roll around and the whole world feels it should take a good long nap. Under his arms, around his waist, in the cleft of his neck. Iwaizumi is a powerhouse of warmth, fiery and completely enveloping like a small furnace that never stops burning.

(sometimes Oikawa wonders if that fire has the ability to make him feel whole again)

With the smell of omelet cooking on the stove and the creak of the floorboards the only sound in the early hours of the morning, the sun barely peeking out from behind the windowsill in Oikawa’s kitchen, it feels like they are the only two living things on the planet. He likes to bury his face in Iwaizumi’s neck, breathe in the scent of lavender fabric softener and homemade soap his mom keeps in the bath.

(sometimes he presses kisses on his neck, so light they're hardly there at all)

Neither of them speak, Iwaizumi twiddling with the spatula, probably debating on when to flips the eggs back over. He could be inconsiderate that way. Not intentionally, but in a sense of a need for restraint, like even with the slightest move Oikawa makes it could send him tumbling off the edge.

(he isn’t sure in these moments whether he wants to kiss Iwaizumi with his lips or his fist)

Their slight height difference only helps in letting Oikawa settle deeper against him, nudging closer until he's pressed flush against the other’s back; shins against calves, chest against back, his slightly smaller feet planted on either side of Iwaizumi’s broader ones. The silence completely swallows everything, but it’s not a bad kind of silence. It’s comfortable, pushing them closer and making his head feel heavier against Iwaizumi’s shoulder. There’s a sense of undeniable coziness nestled in between their almost naked bodies in the time of the day when Oikawa thinks he might be the most infatuated with a single person he has ever been and ever will be.

(an _“i’m glad you're here”_  kind of silence)

Even in only just his pair of old threadbare boxers the chill won’t quite reach him when his arms subconsciously encircle tighter around Iwaizumi’s upper torso. Shutting his eyes and listening to the double pounding of his own heart and Iwaizumi’s pulse set against his ear, he’s reminded that not everything people wish for happens in real life. Take for instance love, eternal life, or happiness. These are not concepts that are meant to exist in this world.

(and yet when all he knows is the hazy press of Iwaizumi’s skin against his own and the feeling of a hand subtly reaching down and bringing his own hand to warm chapped lips he really _really_ wants to believe that they do)

_ii. spring (shiver)_

Somewhere down the line, most likely between late night study cram sessions filled with half muttered insults and curious hands wandering to places they shouldn’t be or long afternoons sipping tea and watching the cherry blossoms fall in the backyard there had grown a knot. A bridge that had grown and stabilized in time between not their hearts but their existences. As if when one end was to be broken then the other would be left in a state of deplorable disrepair for the rest of its days, unable to rebuild or re-become what it used to be.

(a world with a shattered bridge terrifies him)

There would be times on the court when he would feel that connection tug on him, and it was in those mere milliseconds that he would slip a glance in Iwaizumi’s direction to find him waiting, patiently as always.

(he had always be there, maybe not patiently but still there)

Because they had promised, scrunched together and knees bumping on the slide in the park on Iwaizumi's street. A promise said when the spring sky was the lightest shade of blue, the clouds fluffed and towering fast moving shadows across the ground. A promise whispered against sweaty clenched palms and interlocked pinky fingers, sealed under bated breath and small damp foreheads pressed together.

( _"if you need me, I'll be there"_ )

After their first loss in high school Iwaizumi sat outside his bedroom door for the entire day, speaking through the wall as if nothing was amiss, like his spirit wasn't crumpled on the floor in a heap, leaving Iwaizumi to pick it back up and straighten it again. Oikawa had always sucked at that kind of thing; feelings. There was a distinct feeling that had always come with Iwaizumi, a certain pressure that hadn't taken any effort to get used to it was just there and he had always thought it was something everybody had in their lives. It took him too long to realize what that pressure was, what it meant.

( _"even if it's someplace really scary? will you really be there, Iwa-chan?"_ )

After they had taken up official positions as setter and wing spiker in March of their second years on the walk home Oikawa had so much trouble containing his excitement they both ended up slipping and tangled together in a puddle of rainwater, much to Iwaizumi's chagrin and his own amusement.Yet Iwaizumi couldn't manage to hide the grin that spread on his face as Oikawa sputtered through his laughter, head butting Iwaizumi's shoulder and damp fingers clenched against his jacket.

( _"of course I will you idiot."_ )

Boneless and exhausted, half his body laying across Iwaizumi's with only the gentle rise and fall of his chest he can feel the blood moving through his veins and he feels so goddamn alive just sprawled out and endless together it takes his breath away. He feels repaired and broken all at once lying there with nothing but the sheets twisted around their bodies because Oikawa has never wanted to belong to someone as much as he wants to belong to Iwaizumi and sometimes it scares him so much he can hardly move. It’s in these few instants of crushing fear when he would get the overwhelming urge to burrow deeper into the mattress and whisper a single word only meant for him to hear, over and over again:

( _“hajime hajime hajime hajime”_ )

“Tooru?”

Breathe, hold it, let it go. Tremors held on the cusp of destruction, eyes locked in trepidation, unclear and shameless. 

“Hajime.”

Hair pushed away from his face, something smelling faintly like fresh dew and he knows the first day of spring is just around the corner. A hand trailing the contour in the valley of his spine and hips, a shiver, a single drop of water sending ripples across his senses.

“Alright?”

He traced the curve of Iwaizumi’s jaw with the tip of his finger, down his throat and into the dips and angles of his clavicle, patches of skin already blossoming like wild flowers in colors of purple and pink.

“Of course, idiot.”

(always, madly, deeply alright)

_iii. summer (startle)_

It’s almost ironic, the way heat makes him feel. Words have never been one of his strong suits; they always come out too sugary or too nonchalant, too invested or too indifferent. But the words ‘summer chill’ are two that he has always been able to put together without any sour feeling on his tongue. Opposites that work together in harmony seem to be somewhat of an attraction for Oikawa.

(alone together, sweet sorrow, violent peace)

Iwaizumi was a lot like an oxymoron. Silent and hot blooded, rough and gentle, open and secluded. Just looking at the back of his head during the math lesson is enough for Oikawa to tell this much immediately, and it makes him sink his chin to rest on his hands in quiet defeat at the complexity as to what he’s gotten himself into. It had always been this way, Iwaizumi staring straight ahead, trudging forward and Oikawa dragging him backwards, pushing endlessly into the past because the past was for certain. Nothing changed in the past. He knew it was a security blanket and a heavy one at that but for some reason Iwaizumi had chosen to wrap himself in it too.

(awfully good, deafening silence, definite maybe)

He knows that without Iwaizumi there it probably would’ve been impossible for him to become what he is now, or more accurately, keep him from becoming what he was most afraid of; a failure. Because buried somewhere beneath the miscommunications and uncertainty, the days when neither could stop laughing and the nights when all Oikawa could do was hold onto him for dear life, Iwaizumi had decided it was worth it. Maybe it was the way their bodies fit together like slightly mismatched puzzle pieces or the way his eyes glistened and his nose scrunched up when the summer breeze blew by. Maybe it was something else entirely.

(honestly Oikawa was not sure when he realized Iwaizumi was what he had wanted all along)

Stretching before practice, arms linked and back to back they carry on the usual conversation, more like banter than anything else:

"You wanna try that combination today?"

"I'm not sure your knee is up to it,"

"Iwa-chan are you worried about me?"

His view changes from the wall to the ceiling as Iwaizumi leans forwards and the muscles in his back stretch with a grimace. He dangles his feet and kicks lightly at the open air. He would always do that, speaking as if Oikawa’s body was his own. Maybe not his own, but an extension of himself. Even when they were small Iwaizumi always had the habit of wiping Oikawa’s crying face on his sleeve or insisting on putting band-aids on Oikawa’s bloody knees himself, tongue stuck out in concentration and with a timid smile a quiet “all better” he probably thought only he could hear.

(sad smile, loud whisper, same difference)

"Not particularly I just don't want you to overdo it and screw everyone else over."

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning,"

His feet find solid ground again and he feels his knee twinge at the move downwards to face the ground, shouldering Iwaizumi's weight on his back. He can sense the faint protrusions of the other’s spine and the light brush of his hair on his shoulder.

(sometimes, like right now, Iwaizumi feels like fragile one between the two of them)

"Whose fault do you think that is?"

"I'll be fine-"

"I won't do it, Oikawa."

He settles back down and straightens his back, but neither let their arms untangle for a few seconds, both breathing deep and evenly against the other. Words are lodged in his throat but they are words better left said without onlookers or better yet not at all. They aren’t kind words and he knows it; he knows how to rip everything down and set it on fire, because destroying this, destroying what they have, is sometimes what he does best. That was always his problem. But it was also the exact opposite of Iwaizumi’s problem.The problem of having to fix everything.

(it is also sometimes, like right now, that Oikawa realizes that he is)

_iv. autumn (awakening)_

__

The fact that Iwaizumi Hajime was considered stoic and reliable and secure was one of the most ridiculous things Oikawa had ever heard. He is both all and none of these things at the same time, a process that Oikawa hasn’t been able to figure out himself even after fourteen years of friendship, a mutual loss of virginity, and countless flicks to the forehead.

(the first time they kissed Iwaizumi’s hands were shaking like a leaf)

It’s true that Iwaizumi has a streak of being ill tempered and that he tends to keep everything bottled up nice and tight behind the minimal face he puts on. But it is also true that sometimes his eyes are bigger than his stomach and he makes this little humming noise in the shower when he thinks he’s alone. And that sometimes, only sometimes, Oikawa will catch him staring, eyebrows raised and the slightest smile playing gently at the corners of his mouth. It was innocence and ardor, rough touches and old photographs, a look that Oikawa would always feel a reminiscent twist in the pit of his stomach just at the mere sight of.

( _“just like a pair of hawks, those two. always together.”_ the neighbors whispered)

Once, when the leaves had begun to turn red and yellow like mosaics scattered on the sidewalk he heard Kindaichi ask the question on their casual walk between the school and the gymnasium,

_“Iwaizumi-san, what are you going to do after high school?”_

It’s a simple enough question, deserving of a simple answer. But he knows, he feels that stare that only comes around once and a while even without having to turn his eyes from the sidewalk as they go. The pause is only brief enough for Oikawa to notice, to feel the slight hitch in Iwaizumi’s voice before he even spoke, a hesitation that is hardly there at all.

_“I’m not sure yet really.”_

(liar; a teacher, you always wanted to be an english teacher, Iwa-chan)

The rest of the team has just started warming up, the slam of volleyballs against the wood floor resonating echoes in his ears. He know it’s his fault, at least mostly if not entirely.

(but Hajime doesn’t think that, he’s told him so, and that’s what matters)

_“What about you, Oikawa-san?”_

The question was still simple. There was no hidden meaning or double edged sword way about it, that was certain. He didn’t know what compelled him to do what he did next, call it a romantic’s hopelessness or child’s play but to Oikawa it was something deeper than that. It pulled deep down into his body, the tug he couldn’t ignore. When he could finally bring his eyes upwards from the ground they slid immediately to Iwaizumi who met his gaze with the same steadiness.

_“I’ll just go wherever Iwa-chan goes!”_

Shock, adoration, fear, embarrassment, irritation. The whole process plays out amazingly on Iwaizumi’s face as Oikawa shoots his most winning smile in the same direction. He can hear Kunimi snicker under his breath and Kindaichi heave his signature sigh that can either mean exasperation or complacency, but it doesn’t matter. Iwaizumi attempts a backslap at his head and hits straight on, but he doesn’t care.

(they are the ebb and flow of the tides and he was sure that’s how it always would be)

It was enough to simply be. To exist in the same space as one another. For him at least, he had never needed anything else. He lost sight of that for a while, got lost behind his own impossible goals and insufficient capacity for anything at all.

(but it’s okay. Iwa-chan said it was okay, a muffled response from where he was buried in the pillows.)

Snuggled into his chest with a mug of hot chocolate in Iwaizumi’s sweater he remembers, feeling the dimples at the base of Iwaizumi’s spine he remembers, watching him work out a particularly hard math problem the tip of his tongue just peeking out of his mouth he remembers.

_He remembers why he needs Iwaizumi in the first place._

Because behind all the half-hearted insults and late night trips to the convenience store for ice cream when the nights are long and still warm in October there is the fragment of himself that he was never been able to grab no matter how much his hands reaches for it but somehow through the shadow that had curled itself around his mind Iwaizumi had managed to grasp it.

(he flooded out the black and flushed out the wounds they left)

But long before this, somewhere tucked into his soul Iwaizumi was already there, embedded like a piece of glass.

(as it turns out, Iwaizumi was the only piece he needed after all)

**Author's Note:**

> if any of you were expecting an actual coma to be involved in this then I am sorry as you are probably disappointed (or relieved)  
> also, hawks mate for life I leave that information here to make your own conclusions because I am a sucker for metaphors.
> 
> save me from myself
> 
> this piece could alternatively be titled "oikawa is scary to write and I am never doing it again" 
> 
> I have been listening to one coldplay song on repeat for the past week writing this no one touch me


End file.
